STILL HERE. BUT NOT.

i’m not suicidal.
i keep telling myself that.
i’m not.
i just…
don’t know how to keep living like this.
it’s the kind that lives in your bones.
in your breath.
in the way you move slower, speak less, feel almost nothing.
i’m just wishing this wasn’t my middle.
this version of life
where i’m existing,
but not really living.
where everything feels like it’s happening to me
instead of for me.
i’m just so incredibly tired.
of pretending this life feels like mine.

i’m not suicidal.

i don’t want to die.

it’s not the kind of tired sleep can fix.

i’m not looking for an ending.

in inside